Page 47 of Enemies with Benefits (Finding the Right Brother #1)

The haze was beginning to clear, but instead of clarity, all I found was a cloud of thoughts and feelings left behind.

Neither was particularly clear, and I blinked, looking around and seeing a stairwell.

My back was pressed into the corner of the landing, and I was staring up at Kayden, a bruise on his cheek and blood running from his lip.

Another guy, I realized must have been one of the EMTs, was standing behind Kayden, his lip busted and sweat shining on his face.

"Th-the girl," I said, eyes widening.

"We're looking at her," the EMT said, his brow furrowing. "And the guy you?—"

"Forget him for now," Kayden said quickly, his eyes staying on my face. "How is the girl?"

"She...she'll live," the guy said, a shadow passing over his face. "I hate working this fucking run. Something fucked up always happens. Don't blame you, buddy, but you can bet your badge that your ass is grass for this one."

My heart thundered, and I managed to get to my feet. “I-I need air. Kay?"

"I'll be down in a second, I need to make sure everyone's secure up there before backup arrives," he said gently, his face twisted into an expression I couldn't quite place. "Are you, uh...gonna be able to manage?"

"Yeah," I heard myself say, but even to my confused hearing, I didn't sound all that confident.

"Just...don't go anywhere," he told me slowly, looking me over. "They're gonna need to look you over, and...you're going to need to do the report on this. The captain...well, he's going to want...to talk to you."

Talking probably wasn't going to be on the captain's mind, but that didn't really matter.

What mattered most was that little girl, but even in my.

..state, I knew there was no point being in that room.

The people who were best equipped to help her were already with her, and there wasn't much I could do.

I was basically going to stand around and wait before I was dragged off and either suspended for even longer and shoved onto a desk, which would be the best case, or I would be let go out of fear of the abuse of police that had been growing with people for years.

My feet moved of their own accord as I stumbled down the stairs and out onto the street.

The smell of cigarette smoke and piss filled my nostrils, and I turned to walk to the cruiser where Kayden and I had left it.

Someone was leaning against it, but since they scattered the moment I approached, I decided they weren't worth dealing with, and I opened the driver's side door.

I stared at the seat for a moment, trying my hardest to remember what it was I'd been planning to do before closing the door and staring at my faint reflection in the window.

I hadn't taken a single blow, but I'd still managed to come out looking like I'd been through the ringer.

A small laugh escaped as I realized I had a busted lip, matching those I'd left on the EMT and Kayden, and I was guessing there was going to be a bump on my forehead as well from the looks of it.

I'd probably taken the hit while I was trying to get away from them, but I couldn't remember.

I knew I'd told Kayden...something, I'd promised him.

..something, but even that was distant and quiet in the back of my head, drifting away and disappearing in the storm still shredding through my mind.

It must not have been all that important, and I let myself go back to the nothingness of my head as I felt my feet move.

The sensation of my boots thumping against the concrete was more 'real' than anything else around me.

In fact, everything and everyone appeared to be moving as if behind thick, clouded glass, obscuring them and their noises from my senses.

It had been years since something like that had happened, and in a fit of the kind of irony that only a cruel universe could muster, I could remember those quite clearly.

Then again, when you lived in a home where every day was filled with the vibrating, heated potential for violence, retreating into your head where everything outside you made less sense just.. .made sense.

I was still vaguely aware of everything around me, at least enough to trust that my feet would stop at intersections and not lead me to bumping into people.

I still wasn't sure where I was going, not even when I realized I'd stepped inside.

Noises were coming from my right, and I drifted toward them, wincing at the sound of childish laughter.

It was so free and innocent, something that little girl would never have again, and who knew how long ago it had been stolen from her.

My aching fingers were soothed by the feel of glass that my fingertips closed around.

I tipped its contents back and appreciated the cool feeling of it sliding down my throat, and closed my eyes in appreciation as the coolness burst into flames once it reached my gut.

I apparently enjoyed it so much that I found a way to get my hands on three more before something cool was shoved into my hand.

"No," I muttered as I took a sip and didn't find a trace of what had started the fire in my gut. My words were lost after that, but I could feel my irritation coming back as I was denied. "More."

Apparently, that wasn't going to be allowed, and I felt hot pain erupt from my hand and a clatter from behind me that might have been the chair I'd been sitting in.

I heard a couple of shouts, one of which I faintly recognized.

It could have been Moira, but it was hard to understand her, especially with the tone of shock and horror in her voice that I'd never heard before.

It made her sound like a parody of herself, a recording that had been stretched and twisted by someone in an attempt to get through to me, even though I knew it wouldn't work.

Fight. That was all I really had left to do.

I wasn't going to be allowed to drown in the blissfully fiery liquid, where there would be some form of peace, but I could have something .

Fighting was good; it was beautiful. It took all the twisted, gnarled things inside me and gave them somewhere to go, somewhere to sink their claws and give me a moment's peace.

"Jace," a voice said next to me. It was spoken softly, that much I could tell, but it felt like someone blasted it through a bullhorn into my ear despite the gentle firmness. A warm hand closed around my wrist. “Stop. C'mon. Let's go."

I wasn't surprised that I wanted to lash out, to strike whatever was holding me, controlling me, but it fizzled out, getting lost in the hazy storm of my head.

That voice, that command, was clear, the clearest thing…

other than the burn. Clear and firm enough that I couldn't bring myself to deny it, and I allowed myself to get pulled away.

Everything else was still fuzzy as I followed, except for the hand now on my forearm, and the soft voice coaxing me, telling me to come along, that I was being taken care of, that I was going somewhere quiet.

Not that there was anywhere that was ever quiet, but it was a lovely thought all the same.

To think there was a place where I wouldn't hear the slurring rage of my father's voice, all too similar to the voice I'd bellowed out while driving my fists into that rapist. A place where little girls were allowed to stay little girls, and I didn't have to keep seeing flashes of blood on pale skin, forever burned into my memory, where I knew my dreams would pick them up and place them on a macabre stage.

I was sitting, I realized, and then I knew I'd been sitting for a little while, though not for how long.

There was an ache in my right hand that hadn't been there before, or it was worse than it had been before.

It wasn't the dull throb of my fists meeting a bony face, but something sharper, and far deeper.

Another jolt of pain made me suck in a breath, now I was aware of it, and I paused.

When I breathed in, I took it slow, taking in the scent.

I knew I had to be in a room, but there was no smell of industrial cleaner, but something else.

It was a deep smell, built into the room in a way that a smell could only be when it existed, untouched, for a long time.

There were no real words for it, but smelling it reminded me of the beach, walking along the rocky shore, especially when there was a storm brewing on the horizon.

Even miles from the storm, you caught the smell of salty brine but also the crackling, indescribable smell of the lightning and stormy wind from a distance, a distant promise that it would come to shore.

"Mason," I said, my voice clear for the first time, and I picked my head up and looked around.

I found him sitting across from me in an armchair, a book in his hand, and now his eyes were on me as he stared back. "That's my name. Welcome back."

My senses had returned enough that I sensed no judgment or harshness in his voice, but that also meant I was more aware of everything that had happened from the moment I’d seen the blood.

The beating of that fucker.

The way I'd been pulled off and had fought like a wounded animal to go back.

Striking an unarmed, cuffed woman for her part in all that.

The almost drunken way I'd stumbled back to the hotel.

The repeated shots and my absolute fit at being denied more to drink.

Being led up here like a child in front of a crowd.

"Fuck," I said simply, the only thing that could even begin to cover how I was feeling. There was no other way to cover just how horrified I was at my behavior.

"That sounds about right," he said with a snort, closing the book, and while I didn't recognize the title, I caught a glimpse of a half-naked woman and man pushed against one another suggestively on the cover.

"Romance novel?" I wondered, pulled from my thoughts by the surprise of that discovery.